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yours,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘She’s got an attitude on her. You know what you ought to do?’
    Smith was too busy adjusting his face to his cocktail to reply.
    ‘You ought to throw her across your lap, pull her britches down and thrash her bare arse till she squeals for mercy,’ Featherstone said, with relish.
    ‘She’s only lost the keys,’ Smith replied. ‘Bit harsh, isn’t it?’
    ‘Nonsense, my dear Smith. Harshness is the only language women understand. My own wife was like that when I met her: a wild filly, secretly yearning to be broken, and then ridden. One night,’ he smiled slyly around his cigarillo, ‘I seized her roughly after dinner, threw her against the wall and told her I knew she longed to surrender to my manliness.’
    ‘What happened then?’
    ‘She hit me with a toaster. But that’s not the point, Smith. A firm hand is the answer, preferably across the backside. They love it really. Vae victis .’
    Smith frowned, sipping reluctantly at his cocktail, trying to work out whether Featherstone had just revealed a shocking truth, or whether he was just a sleazy little git.
    ‘So,’ he said, deciding on the latter, ‘you’ve been watching things here for a while. What do you think of this Hyrax chap?’
    Featherstone frowned. ‘Well, there’s no doubt that the fellow is well organised. He has a simple agenda, he promises all things to all people, and he has a large number of fanatical followers. In short, he’s one of the chief political players on the colony – in fact, the only one other than the governor.’
    ‘I see. I’ve just seen him give a speech, as a matter of fact. The man’s obviously barking mad – but I suppose that’s irrelevant, isn’t it?’
    ‘Quite. Who knows what a lunatic will do? To you or I, this cocktail and chat is quite pleasant – but a madman like the Hyrax might get exactly the same enjoyment out of exploring his back end with a garden strimmer. These people are not normal.’
    Smith ventured to sip his cocktail again, which still tasted like antifreeze with an olive. ‘So what would you suggest we do? I’m not used to all this cloak-and-dagger stuff.’
    ‘Well,’ said Featherstone, ‘what’s your gut feeling?’
    ‘Hmm,’ Smith said. ‘I rather thought we might spy on him or something: you know, set up a chain of agents, infiltrate his organisation, dead-letter boxes, park benches, overcoats, that sort of thing.’
    Featherstone laughed. ‘Oh, my dear fellow, no,’ he said. ‘You’ve been watching too many films. Spying’s moved on from those days. We’re going down the casino.’
    ‘The casino?’
    ‘Of course. The heart of any modern spying operation is in the rolling of dice. Or, better still, getting a dolly bird to roll them for you. This isn’t the dark ages, you know. You see, the Hyrax himself lives a life of simple purity, but his men don’t. His PR guru is a hired gun called Calloway. He’s the one who helps the Hyrax answer questions that aren’t about crusades. Thing is, he spends a lot of time playing cards. If we can get close to him, we can learn a lot about how to get to the Hyrax himself.’ He finished his drink and turned to the ice machine. ‘Do you know baccarat?’
    ‘Only Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head . Did he do that thing about the cake left in the rain?’
    *
    ‘Well, this is the life,’ Carveth observed, three hours later.
    She had moved straight from the sun lounger to the bath-tub, and had spent nearly an hour there. Now she stood in front of her open suitcase in her dressing gown, trying to decide what to wear.
    In the next room down, Smith was ready to go. He wore his red fleet jacket with black trousers and shiny shoes. He was not looking forward to this.
    Suavity was not one of Smith’s strong points. He was not stupid, but he was not good at assessing other people; he could not tell jokes, impress or look clever.
    That was for other men, men who got girls without trying, and who